Ivory
by PhoenixFire Lia
Summary: Just a little fluff piece about Matt teaching his daughter to play the piano. Sorato, some Takari, some Daiken. Again, it's fluffy.


Ivory

**Slightly AU. Sorato. Takari. Daiken. 2023. Need I say more?**

**_Ahem._**

**Right. Matt's POV. And I own nothing. Nothing. **

            Music is, and has always been my life. Even before I was born, music was a part of me. My parents, a newspaper reporter and a television producer, got the harebrained idea to play ample amounts of classical music throughout my mother's trimesters, in hopes that it would make me some sort of genius. It's a family legend, started by my brother, I believe, that my father was playing _Ride of the Valkryies _as my mother was going into labor. An untruth, I assure you. They continued the classical immersion through those fragile developmental years, when you first realize you have toes and that your parents _will _come if you scream loud enough. Needless to say, I did not grow up to be a genius. That's all right; our faction of twelve had enough genius in it, between Izzy Izumi and Ken Ichijouji. I grew up to be; you guessed it, a musician. 

            It may come to you as a shock, but I'm not that handsome, gawky teenager with the bass guitar anymore. All good things come to an end at some point, and Teen-Age Wolves died when the four of us graduated. I was sorry to see it go, but it was time. I now teach piano and vocal lessons three days a week, for now, I'm still waiting on a call from the New Japan Philharmonic Orchestra. Besides, my life is already full enough. I'm a father. Yes, you read right. The great stoic is a father. 

            I suppose you'll want to hear all about it, how I fell in love, got married, and helped create something that I would gladly give everything for. But that would take too long, and I'm not one for words. There isn't much to tell, anyways. Nothing you haven't already heard. Longtime friends Sora Takenouchi and Matt Ishida start dating in high school. And college. And after college. After she becomes a successful fashion designer and he a well-off musician, they get married and move into a studio apartment. Not long after that, their first daughter Megami Nikko Ishida was born.  There, that's my life from where you last saw me. Meg is three now, and Sora's two months pregnant with our next child. The year is 2023, and I'm still more or less the same Matt Ishida that ran around the Digital World so many years ago hyperventilating over his brother. 

~*~

            "Weather today calls for partial clouds, mild breeze from the southeast, and a high of into the mid-seventies. Looking ahead towards the weekend…"

The clock radio is chattering in my ear, the chipper voice crackling from interference. Morning again? It seems as though I just fell asleep. Sora's side of the bed is empty again, still warm, so she has just vacated it. Please don't let her be sick again. Two months pregnant and she's still sick. My mother told her that severe morning sickness is usually a good indication that the baby is a boy. I wouldn't mind having a son, someone to carry on the proud Ishida name. Running water from behind the bathroom door, faucet, not shower, confirms my suspicions. Looks like it's another tea-and-toast breakfast for her, meaning I have to get Meg up…not that that should be any great difficulty. 

            I walk down the hallway to her bedroom, can hear her giggling to herself in there. She's spoiled rotten, my little goddess, but with the extended family she has, it's expected. With an aunt and uncle who are over on a near-daily basis and a score of godparents and god-monsters, she'll never be as isolated as I was. I made certain of that. 

"You got a call while you were out last night," Gabumon states, poking his head out from around the corner. "Your eight o'clock lesson was canceled."

"Thanks, Gabumon. And would you let Biyomon know Sora's sick again?"

My partner nods and disappears, off to find his pink counterpart. 

            Meg is sitting on the floor, trying to pull a sock onto her delicate little foot. Her clothes don't match, and her shirt is inside out and backwards, but the effort has been noted. 

"G'morning, Daddy!" she says brightly, looking up from the daunting task of pulling at her sock. 

"Morning, Meg. Need a bit of help?" 

She shakes her head, pulling harder on her sock. It finally slides on, and she couldn't have looked prouder. I don't have the heart to tell her she looks as if she's just rolled out of the laundry hamper. She dressed herself, and that's an incredible feat for a three-year-old. 

            "Mommy's sick again, so you and I are going to have breakfast together and we'll give Mommy hers when she feels better, okay?" I ask, taking her tiny hand in mine. She nods complacently and lets me lead her to the kitchen. 

Yokomon and Biyomon are already foraging for something to eat, and Gabumon has had the foresight to put a cup of coffee out for me, his own in his hand…or paw, rather. 

"Mommy's gonna get better, right?" Meg asks, opening one of those individual-sized cereal boxes and dumping it into a plastic bowl, not without launching a mass of colored cereal bits across the counter. These she dumps into her hand and then into the bowl. 

"Yup. The baby's just making her sick right now."

She watches me take a sip from my mug, blue eyes screwed up with scrutiny. 

"Daddy, what's coffee taste like?"

I grin at her. "It tastes bad, you wouldn't like it."

"If it tastes bad, why do you drink it?"

She has all the inquisition of T.K., I swear. 

"Because it keeps me awake."

            She follows me into the studio; one half of the room occupied by my piano, the other half by Sora's desk. Or, where Sora's desk should be. It's covered in sketches and pens, brushes, ink and paint and swatches. I hate the word 'swatch.' Biyomon's got her own desk, next to Sora's, and a set of specially crafted pens for her use. Gabumon uses what's supposed to be my desk, he works as my secretary and keeps my music in order in the wooden cabinet next to the desk. 

            I sit down at the bench, crack my knuckles, run my fingers through my hair. It's all standard routine before I play anything. Go through my usual warm-ups, fingers fluttering lightly across the keys in rapid motion as they are pushed from sluggish inactivity. Meg's leaning on the bench, watching in rapt awe as I play nothing more than a few scales. 

"Daddy, teach me," she says when I finish and move to the cabinet to pick out a piece. 

I shut the doors, smiling at her as I cross back to the piano. "Teach you?"

"I wanna play like you." 

I scoop her up into my arms, sitting down with her at the keyboard. "It'll take a lot of time."

"I have lots of time."

I take her hand, guide it to middle C, press her finger down on the ivory. She gives a triumphant cry when a sound is produced. 

"That's middle C. You can find every other note on the piano from middle C," I explain. 

She tries again, on her own. Again and again the one simple note plays, filling the room with the repetitive tone. 

            "Music has its own alphabet, from A to G," I tell her as she continues depressing middle C. 

"What happens after G?" she asks. For a three-year-old, she's brilliant, I swear. 

"It starts at A again."

I walk her fingers up the keys in a C major scale, up and then down again. She tries on her own, suspiciously eyeing the black keys and glancing up at me to make sure I approved. 

"Very good, Meg. That's a scale. You keep practicing that; I'm going to see what Mommy's doing. Okay?"

"Okay!" she trumpets, moving her little fingers up and down repeatedly, moving from note to note with a clumsy plunk. 

            Sora is sitting on the bed, chasing a pair of pink Pepto-Bismol pills down with a glass of water. She makes a face as she swallows the chalky, not really peppermint flavored tablets. It never really occurred to me that Biyomon is more or less the same color as those pills until now. My wife, my lovely wife, is a lovely shade of greenish gray. 

"What's that racket in the other room? Did you drop a pen into the piano?" she asks with a scowl. 

"I'm teaching Megami to play," I say proudly. 

"Matt, our daughter is three. We've barely taught her the alphabet and how to count to ten, she doesn't need to know how to play the piano."

"She asked me to teach her. She's mastering scales right now."

She shakes her head in annoyance. "Matt…" 

"Sora? I promise, the next one can be yours. You can teach him to play soccer and tennis and sew little potpourri bags." 

"You're terrible."

            I kiss her cheek gently, telling her not to worry. Worrying is my job, her job is to get strong again. Because weakness has always been something I fear. Weakness, helplessness, pain and sorrow, things I don't want my children to know of. 

She sighs and gives in. "All right, teach her to play. But when she realizes that it's not going to happen overnight, she's going to be disappointed."

"She already knows, she's got my intellect."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

I shoot her a look of disdain. "Even when you're suffering from morning sickness, you still get in your daily jab at me, don't you?"

Sora grins. "With Tai in America, who else is going to?" 

~*~

            I admit defeat for now and head back to the piano, where Meg is still trying. She's given up on the scales and is now just depressing various combinations of keys. I stand in the doorway, watching silently as she mumbles to herself and presses her fingers down on the ivory. 

"Daddy makes it look so easy," she whimpers, playing a G sharp followed by a B flat. 

"Daddy's been playing piano since he was a teenager," I tell her, making my presence known. "You'll be playing as good as I do in a few years, it just takes practice."

She sighs heavily, hopping down from the bench to hug me around the knees. 

"I know, Daddy, I know."

I sit down at the bench again, flexing still stiff fingers. "How about you let your old man play for a little while?"

Meg breaks into a wide grin. "Oh please, Daddy?" 

            After a few more warm-ups, I begin playing a melody engrained on my heart. It was my audition piece for the Philharmonic, a self-composed masterpiece entitled _Uta no tame ni Megami, _Song for a Goddess. I had written it just after Meg was born, and it has become her 'image-song.' She starts humming along with the piano, enraptured by the swift moving fingers of her father. Sora pokes her head into the room, a look of wry amusement on her face. 

"And here I thought it was Meg playing," she says. "Trying to deceive me, Ishida Yamato?"

"Why would I do such a thing?" I ask, still playing. "Trick my wife. That cuts me deep, Ishida Sora."

            She rolls her eyes, annoyance on her face. Don't think we don't love each other, because we certainly do. We just happen to have an unusual way of showing it. 

"Your brother just called. He wants you to call him back right away."

I stop what I'm doing, turning to face her. "T.K.? I didn't hear the phone."

"That's because he didn't use the phone. He sent a message on your old D-terminal."

I stare at her incredulously. "That hunk of junk still works? What kind of batteries did Izzy put in those things?" 

She shrugged. "I have a meeting to get to. I'll see you both tonight."

"Bye Mommy!"

"Goodbye Sora."

            I sigh heavily, crossing to my desk and picking up the phone. Meg's gone back to her plunking, which is perfectly fine by me. Half the songs I write start out by plunking keys. 

"Takaishi residence."

"So informal. Mom would kill you if she ever heard you answer the phone like that."

"Hello, my favorite big brother!"

I roll my eyes. "T.K., I'm your only big brother."

"Well, there _was _that time I asked Tai to be my brother because I hated you for running off…but anyway, what're you doing?"

"Trying to figure out why you would send me a message on my D-terminal, seeing as how we stopped using those twenty years ago."

"Kai and Ryu found mine and I thought I'd see if it still worked, out of old habit, you know. Hey, you interested in having brunch with me?"

"I don't know, why?"

"I thought maybe my brother and niece would like to stop in, seeing as how Kari's at school, as are my sons. I'm all by my lonesome here."

"Takeru, you wretch, you are not alone. I can hear Patamon in the background now and…is that Veemon?" 

He laughs. "Yeah, the Motomiyas are here too."

"The Motomiyas? You got _those _pencil-pushers to leave their offices?"

 "I'm _your _brother, remember? If I wanted, I could get Tai to fly in from Washington. Come on, Matt, please? Besides, I have something here that belongs to you and you should probably come get it."

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling. You have to come here and see."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," I tell him through clenched teeth.  

            Meg toddles over, tugging at my shirt hem and looking up at me with a quizzical expression. 

"Are we going somewhere?" she asks innocently. 

I nod. "Uncle T.K. conned me into coming over. And your godfathers got roped in as well. So, get your coat and Yokomon."

"Kay!"

I sigh again, wondering what I did with my car keys. I know I put them somewhere!

"Gabumon, where are my keys?" 

"In your coat pocket! Going to visit T.K.?" 

"Yeah, we shouldn't be gone too long. Although you never know with T.K."

~*~

            My brother hasn't changed at all. He's still just as goofy as he was when we were kids. And being a live-in author doesn't help him either. He gets to stay home all day in front of the computer and make random phone calls to all of us so he can get the facts straight. He's been writing a series about our Digital World adventures, and every so often he'll call to ask me what happened during such-and-such a battle or what the attack of this digimon was. As you might have guessed, he and Kari ended up getting married, and they have twin sons, Kai and Ryu. Fraternal twins, I should point out. One's the spitting image of T.K. and the other looks like a boyish Kari. 

"Hello, sunshine!" he says to Meg, picking her up and swinging her around. She squeals, an expression of fear crossing her young face for an instant. 

"Don't expect me to do that for you, Matt," he tells me, setting my daughter aside. 

            We set our shoes by the door and sit down in the living room, and yes, there's a couch. The original Ishida apartment, where Dad still lives, never had and never will have a couch. The Motomiyas and their digimon are sitting on the loveseat across the room, drinking tea and reminiscing about something T.K. must have pestered them about.

"Hey there Matt, haven't seen you around lately. Keeping busy?" Davis asks, setting his cup down. 

"I have a three-year-old daughter, does that answer your question?" I reply. 

"Hi Uncle Davis! Hi Uncle Ken!" the bubbly blonde in question chimes, hugging her godfathers. Nobody was surprised when Ken and Davis announced that they were getting married. We _were _a bit floored when they asked Yolei to be their surrogate mother, though. But if it hadn't been for Yolei, they wouldn't have their son, Kamu, Davis's Mini-Me. 

             "So T.K., what's this you have for me?" I ask, watching Yokomon interact with Patamon, Veemon, and Wormmon. The three rookie-level monsters are describing another one of their heroic episodes to the little pink radish. 

"What?" my brother asks, his voice trailing from the kitchen. 

"Nevermind, I'll ask you again when you're not ignoring me on purpose. How'd you two get out of the office?"

Davis grins. "I never go into work this early. Nobody wants noodles at nine in the morning, let alone any other sort of lunch/dinner item."

"I took today as a mental health day. Inspector Takanori is filling in for me," Ken adds. 

"Matt, did you ever hear from that orchestra?" T.K. questions, setting down a tray of random food items he happened to scrounge up. 

"No, and it's been three months since that audition."

My brother almost magically produces an envelope. "They sent this here instead of to you."

            The return address is from the Philharmonic. I think my hands are shaking as I slide the envelope open. Meg is still sitting in Davis's lap, watching as her flustered father has difficulty with the mail. 

"Dear Mr. Ishida…blah, blah…we commend you on an excellent performance…some stuff about being difficult to enter into…blah, blah, blah…on behalf of the New Japan Philharmonic Orchestra, we would like to extend to you the position of first chair pianist."

"First chair pianist?" Davis parrots. 

"Is that good, Daddy?" Meg asks fearfully. 

I sigh in relief. "It's wonderful. It's a dream come true, baby girl. You don't know how…oh man, I'm speechless."

"For once," T.K. retorts.  

             "So…what's the work entail?" Ken asks, setting his teacup down on the coffee table. I shrug. 

"I'm not exactly sure. Concerts and rehearsals, I know, but they were a little sketchy on precisely what I was doing. But they say they're sending me a schedule in a couple of weeks that will give me all the finer details. And this time, T.K., don't withhold it from me. That _is _mail fraud, you know."

"Oh, I just wanted to make you squirm a little. Payback for all those years of torment."

"What years of torment?" I quip. "I didn't live with you, there was no torment!" 

Meg scoops up Yokomon into her arms and hugs her little monster friend. 

"Daddy's teaching me to play the piano just like him."

The three younger Destined raise their eyebrows at me. "Oh?"

"Just a little for now. Don't give me _that _look, T.K., I know you taught your boys to play basketball, so I'm teaching my girl to play piano."

"I just think she's a bit young for it, Matt. She's only three," T.K. points out. 

"It can't hurt her," Ken replies, taking a pair of slim silver glasses out of his pocket and examining my letter. 

            "It's hard," Meg says. "Daddy is so much better."

"Don't worry, Meg. I remember when your father couldn't do anything but wheeze into a harmonica."

"T.K…"

Davis glances down at his watch. "Dang, I've gotta get running. I'll see you all later." 

Ken gets up as well, handing me back the letter. "If he's leaving, then I should head out too. The dishwasher should be finished by now, and I _know _you two will help me unload it, right?"

Veemon and Wormmon exchange fearful glances. "Heheh, of course we will."

            They gather up their shoes, give Meg a kiss, tell her to behave and all that stuff, and slink out the door, leaving me alone with my brother. Not completely alone, of course, but alone enough for him to relax a little. T.K.'s never comfortable talking about 'family junk' around company. 

"I guess Mom's going out to Paris to see Grandpa," T.K. sighs. "I still can't believe he's still kicking after all these years."

"Remember, he was pretty young when he married and had Mom. He's not all that much older than she is. Unless you want me to tell our mother what you think of her age."

"You wouldn't. Besides, you never call her. She's always complaining about how you never call her. 'Oh, you're such a good boy for calling your mother on a regular basis. Not like Matt, if I hear from him during the holidays I'm lucky.' Jeez."

"Come on now, I call Mom almost as often as I call Dad. You're just trying to make me look bad in front of my own daughter. How's Kari?"

            "Good enough. Still tries to have perfect attendance at school, even though she's the teacher now. I swear, she'll come down with the Ebola virus and still come in to teach."

"Sora's the same way. She had a meeting today, and she's still getting sick. I'm always telling her to just do a teleconference or use the webcam I bought her, but she insists on coming in herself. Almost as stubborn as I am."

We talk about life in general and all that gossip two brothers in their mid-thirties can talk about adequately with a three-year-old still in the room for probably another half hour. 

"I should get going, we left Gabumon home by himself, and we all know what happens when we leave Gabumon home alone, right Meg?"

"There's no ice cream left?" she hazards. I nod smartly at her. 

"Fine. I'll call you later in the week, see if we can hire a babysitter, the four of us go out for dinner or something," T.K. states, getting up with us. 

"Yeah, see if one of the Kido kids is around. Jim's girl might be available."

He bends over and gives his 'favorite niece' a crushing hug, patting her head and telling her to disobey me at every chance she got. I promptly tell her uncle not to lie.

~*~

            Gabumon is sitting on the couch with a bowl of prepackaged Ramen, from Davis's Noodle Noodle chain, of course. He's got some trashy 'Behind the Music' clone on, and as we walk in he flashes a toothy grin. 

"Hey, MVH1TV is doing one of those cheesy specials on former teen idols, and you happen to be the marshmallow for roasting right now!" he announces. 

"Fabulous. You know that stuff rots your mind, right?"

He shrugs. "Come on, Matt. Everybody needs a little stupidity at some point."

"Gabumon, sometimes you nearly abuse the privilege. Any messages?"

"Just Sora and Biyomon checking up on us. I told her you and Meg ran off to become some Vaudeville act for the Ukrainian circus. She told me that was nice and hoped you'd be home in time to start supper because she sure as heck wasn't cooking tonight."

            Meg's run back to the piano, trying to impress me with her great skills. She begins poking keys in some random sequence, and this time it sounds like a song. As I cross into the studio and she tries repeating the same sequence of keys, it starts to sound more and more familiar. Like the shaky beginnings of _Heart and Soul. _

"That's actually very good, Meg. How about we work all afternoon and surprise Mommy at how well you can play when she gets home?"

She nods enthusiastically, and I begin to teach her the simple pattern. Three strikes of one key, a downward and upward scale, a repetition of this with a higher note. She takes this in slowly, following my fingers, shooing my guiding hand away to try on her own. Concentration screws her face up in a determined expression. 

"Am I doing it right?" she asks. 

"You bet. Just take it slowly, and you'll get it."

She keeps trying, making sure not a single finger slips to an incorrect note. As she keeps plinking out the familiar tune, I slide my own hands down a few octaves to play the lower part. She stares at me in alarm. 

            "I play this part," I explain, playing the low chords," and when I nod, you play what I taught you. Can you do that?"

"Maybe…" she says nervously. 

"We'll try. How's that sound?"

I start up the chords again, remembering to keep the tempo slow enough for her to keep speed. I give Meg the curt nod she's watching for, and she starts off her part. She begins all right, but partially in between descending and ascending she slips onto a wrong note and stops. 

"No, that was all right! Don't worry about that, you're doing just fine. I'm proud of you, Meg."

            I'll remember the look she gave me after I said that for the rest of my life. She couldn't have looked more overjoyed if I told her we were getting a pony. Having never been told "I'm proud of you, Matt," by my father, it really struck a chord in my emotions…eh, no pun intended. I can't recall any time where my father ever uttered his pride for me, and to see my own offspring take joy in hearing me tell her I was pleased with her work was one of the most gratifying moments of my life. 

~*~

            When Sora and Biyomon came home that night, Meg and I were still at the piano. There was an instant pizza in the oven and the table had been set for the lot of us. Usually I cook something from scratch, since I do have credible cooking talents, but tonight piano lessons were just too important for that. They paused just inside the door, hearing the two melodies playing over each other, one a bit shakier than the other, but still a decent job. Sora cautiously peered around the doorframe to the studio, watching father and daughter sitting together, running their hands over the ivory surfaces. 

"Aw, it's a Kodak moment," Biyomon chirped, coming up from behind Sora. 

"Get the camera, Biyomon, Mom and Dad need to see this."

Meg was about to turn around and greet her mother when I elbowed her, shaking my head. 

"Good musicians just keep playing until the photo opportunity is over," I tell her. 

            Years later, my daughter is still as much an avid musician as I am, and my son has absolutely no musical abilities but will probably play for an Olympic team one day. And every now and then, Meg will come and sit beside me at the piano and start playing _Heart and Soul, _vamping again and again until I give in and play along with her. 

"This was the first song you ever taught me to play, Daddy," she'll tell me, elbowing me as she descends, playing two octaves at a time. 

"I know."

"Thank you, Daddy."

I stop, mid-chord. "For what, Meg?"

She smiles brilliantly. "Taking the time to show me how, and telling me you were proud of me, even when I was playing nothing that was considered music."

"You're welcome, darling."

~*~

**This took longer to write than I intended it to. **

**_You were going to make it more dramatic, weren't you?_**

**I thought about having you get mugged and your throat more or less slashed. **

**_And my fingers! You didn't want me to be musical anymore._**

**It would've been one of those dramatic heart-wrenchers. **

**_Oh, spare me. _**


End file.
